’Tis true
that we are in great danger;
The greater, therefore, should our courage be.
—Shakspeare.
We proceeded a short way, when we were stopped by
a door; this Job opened, and a narrow staircase, lighted
from above, by a dim lamp, was before us. We
ascended, and found ourselves in a sort of gallery;
here hung another lamp, beneath which Job opened a
closet.
“This is the place where Bess generally leaves
the keys,” said he, “we shall find them
here, I hope.”
So saying, Master Job entered, leaving me in the passage,
but soon returned with a disappointed air.
“The old harridan has left them below,”
said he, “I must go down for them; your honour
will wait here till I return.”
Suiting the action to the word, honest Job immediately
descended, leaving me alone with my own reflections.
Just opposite to the closet was the door of some apartment;
I leant accidentally against it; it was only a-jar,
and gave way; the ordinary consequence in such accidents,
is a certain precipitation from the centre of gravity.
I am not exempt from the general lot; and accordingly
entered the room in a manner entirely contrary to
that which my natural inclination would have prompted
me to adopt. My ear was accosted by a faint voice,
which proceeded from a bed at the opposite corner;
it asked, in the thieves’ dialect, and in the
feeble accents of bodily weakness, who was there?
I did not judge it necessary to make any reply, but
was withdrawing as gently as possible, when my eye
rested upon a table at the foot of the bed, upon which,
among two or three miscellaneous articles, were deposited
a brace of pistols, and one of those admirable swords,
made according to the modern military regulation,
for the united purpose of cut and thrust. The
light which enabled me to discover the contents of
the room, proceeded from a rush-light placed in the
grate; this general symptom of a valetudinarian, together
with some other little odd matters (combined with the
weak voice of the speaker), impressed me with the
idea of having intruded into the chamber of some sick
member of the crew. Emboldened by this notion,
and by perceiving that the curtains were drawn closely
around the bed, so that the inmate could have optical
discernment of nothing that occurred without, I could
not resist taking two soft steps to the table, and
quietly removing a weapon whose bright face seemed
to invite me as a long known and long tried friend.
This was not, however, done in so noiseless a manner,
but what the voice again addressed me, in a somewhat
louder key, by the appellation of “Brimstone
Bess,” asking, with sundry oaths, “What
was the matter?” and requesting something to
drink. I need scarcely say that, as before, I
made no reply, but crept out of the room as gently
as possible, blessing my good fortune for having thrown
into my way a weapon with the use of which, above
all others, I was best acquainted. Scarcely had
I regained the passage, before Jonson re-appeared
with the keys; I showed him my treasure (for indeed
it was of no size to conceal).
